


Second Fragment: Confession

by rosa_himmelblau



Series: Crime and Punishment: A Story in Three Fragments [2]
Category: Wiseguy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:30:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Some things can't be forgiven.  At least, not by God.





	

The debriefing started out fine—or seemed to. Frank had been watching for fissures in Vince's behavior, so he couldn't be sure if he saw what was there or what he was looking for.

Either way, it didn't take long for Vinnie's cool, professional facade to crack and leave him snapping at Daryl.

Frank wanted to tell Daryl to lighten up, leave him alone, he'd been through a lot, but he knew it was useless. As usual Daryl was **technically** right—they did need to get Vince's info to the prosecutor as quickly as possible.

By the time Daryl gave up, Vince had shut down almost completely, his answers monosyllabic, unresponsive, and hostile.

"You'd better get your act together, Terranova. You're our star witness," were Daryl's parting words before he went to talk to the D.A. The hunted look they produced on Vince's face worried the hell out of Frank. He touched Vince's shoulder and Vince flinched.

"We'll be going to the safehouse soon, you can get some sleep there."

"Yeah, sure. Sleep."

Well, it didn't seem likely to Frank, either, but what could you say? _Let's go, you can pace and smoke and climb the walls and eat yourself up inside there just as easily as here?_ He'd never been known for his inspiring pep talks, but that was going a little far.

Daryl was waiting in the hall when he went out to see if the car was ready.

"Frank, what exactly do we have here?"

"Sir?"

"Our star witness is acting like **we're** the enemy—"

_Not **we,** you idiot, **you** —and who knows, he may be right._

"—we can't put him on the witness stand like that!"

Frank stared at him, not saying the million sarcastic things that leapt to mind. Finally, "What we have is a very tired, emotionally wrung out man who needs some time to wind down from having lived for months on lies and fear, and whose life was in imminent danger this morning. He'll settle down long before we go to court."

"Do I have your word on that?"

 _I am not a man who gives his word lightly,_ Frank thought, _and Vince's a bad bet._ "Yes, sir, you have my word. He'll be settled down before we go to court." _Whatever else he may be, I think I'm sure of **that** much._

 

Vince was silent in the car, but it was an ominous silence, a silence of unscreamed screams, of nerves yanked beyond their limits but still holding together. _What was that kiss about, Vinnie?_ Frank wondered. _Is that what's making you so crazed right now?_

They'd stopped at a gas station, and they were alone for the moment, Daryl in the men's room.

"You think he knows yet?" Frank could barely hear him, the words were so soft.

"Knows what?"

"Knows it was me, knows the truth. You think he knows?"

 _Oh, shit._ "I don't know, Vince."

Silence again. Daryl came back.

They were nearly to the safehouse when Vince spoke again. "I want to see my brother."

"I don't think that—" Daryl began at the same time Frank said he'd see what he could do. "Frank." _Daryl, it would help if you didn't sound like such a pompous asshole, like such a little dictator, every tyrant who ever terrorized a grade school. It would help, but not much, because you can't sound like a guy who knows what he's talking about because you **aren't** and you never will be. _"I don't think seeing his brother is going to be possible."

"His brother's a priest," Frank snapped. "I'd say he can be trusted." Vince hadn't told him that he'd confided in his brother, and he'd never asked, but he knew.

"Didn't you ever hear of the sanctity of the confessional?" Vinnie demanded.

"No," Daryl answered, and it wasn't in answer to Vince's question. "I'm sorry, but this is a very important case, and if you have things you need to talk about, we need you to talk about them with the right people."

Frank swerved the car off the road and slammed on the brakes. Out of the car and around to the passenger side, dragging Daryl out before his cowardly common sense could tell him not to.

"Frank, what's the matter with you?" Daryl backed away from him, enough real fear in his eyes to satisfy Frank for the moment.

_Keep it calm—it's either persuade him or kill him and you're not gonna kill him, much as you'd like to right this second._

"Listen to me. You wanted to know what kind of shape he'd be in for the trial? Six feet under is my guess if you don't let him decompress, and you can't order a man to decompress the way that's most convenient for you. He wants to talk to his brother, we thank providence his brother's a priest instead of a reporter for a tabloid and **we let him talk to him."** _What is wrong with you that you can't see that?_ "Take it from one who's fallen away from the Church, the sanctity of the confessional is absolute, stricter than lawyer-client confidentiality, with not a loop-hole in sight. His brother won't repeat a word."

"Frank, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Who knows what Terranova might tell his brother, and then, decompressed, never need to talk about again? We need to keep the pressure on, to make him crack—"

"Crack?" Frank couldn't believe he was hearing this. "And after he cracks, what, we put the pieces back the best we can so he makes a nice impression before a jury and who gives a damn about what's going on inside? He's on our side!"

"Are you sure about that? Why is he protecting Steelgrave?"

"He's **not!** He's protecting himself, he feels threatened and vulnerable and you, **sir,** keep threatening him further. If you break him," he added, hating himself for using this argument, knowing he had no other, "you won't be able to use him later. Maybe not on the witness stand and certainly not in the field. He'll be a one-shot deal, all that training out the window."

Daryl seemed to consider that for a moment. "All right, he can see his brother. But I want the room bugged."

"No, sir."

"Frank, this is non-negotiable."

"You bet it's not. You illicitly tape record a man's confession to his priest and see what happens **when** the word leaks out. No, he gets his privacy."

Daryl was looking at him, evaluating the seriousness of his threat. He took hold of Frank's arm and moved him farther from the car.

"Well, Frank, we need to know what Terranova says to his brother. Since you seem to be the only one you trust where he's concerned, and since you want to make yourself one hundred percent responsible for him, why don't you be the one who listens to what they say. I'm sure we can trust your judgement on this, can't we, Frank? Because it's either that or try it my way. Understand?"

 _Shit, I overplayed my hand, let him know Vinnie matters to me. Got no choice, now._  
  
"Yes, sir, I understand perfectly."

"Good. Now get back in the car and start driving." Daryl got in, slamming the car door.

Vinnie was pacing the bedroom when Frank brought his brother in. He closed the door, then went to the next room, where he could hear everything that was said.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it's been—I don't know, I don't remember, Pete—"

"Vince, settle down. Are you all right?"

"I don't—I want to confess, I want to confess everything—"

 _Still pacing,_ Frank thought, listening as Vince's voice moved from one part of the room to another.

"Everything like what?" Pete's tone was careful, trying to understand.

"Everything I did, everything, Pete, I—I—what's been on the news? Have they said anything on the news about Sonny?"

 _Lord, that kiss did mean something, if that's the first thing he's asking._  
  
"I heard about the arrest. We expected to hear from you."

"By now he probably knows it was me." There was a grim fatality to his tone, as if something had died.

"What are you talking about?"

"Sonny. I'm sure by now he knows it was me. God, Pete, I hurt; I hurt him and I did it on purpose and I wish I was dead."

"Vinnie, you're being melodramatic. Just settle down here and talk to me."

 _Maybe he is and maybe he isn't,_ Frank thought, reaching for the phone. He'd hoped this would settle Vince down, but maybe there was more here than his brother could handle.

"I never really understood, not 'til the end when he kissed me. He didn't kill me—he didn't want to kill me—because he loves me. No matter how much I hurt him, he didn't want kill me, he loves me too much."

"Who?"

"Sonny. God, he really loves me. I thought it was just I wasn't important enough for him to kill, but that's not it, not the way he kissed me . . . . " His voice trailed off with a sad, helpless dreaminess.

"Kissed you—what? What are you talking about?"

"Before they arrested us, he—I kissed him, I wanted to say goodbye, I wanted him to know how much he matters to me, I wanted him to know that when he finds out it was me who betrayed him—"

"You did not betray him, Vinnie, you were doing your job."

"And what was that job, anyway? What was it? If I'd told him about Patrice, he never would have killed him—I'm an accessory, Pete, and so's Frank, he told me to not let on about the hit. How was I supposed to know Aldo would tell him about it—I didn't even know Aldo knew about it."

"Vince—start at the beginning, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The beginning, Pete? Where is that? When I decided I wanted to join the OCB, to do some good? When Ma an' the whole family except for you practically disowned me because I had to set my cover? When Stan Dermott was killed?"

"Who's Stan Dermott?" There was a desperate confusion in Pete's tone that Frank couldn't help but identify with, even though he knew what Vince was talking about.

"He was my training officer. Dave Steelgrave killed him to keep him from testifying against him. I promised him I'd get Dave—it was pay back, it wasn't about my sworn duty, Pete, it was revenge." A laugh, sounding a little hysterical. "Well, at least Sonny will understand about **that.**

"I didn't expect to care about Sonny, that wasn't supposed to happen, and I didn't expect to sleep with him—"

"Vinnie—"

"Dammit, Pete, shut up and listen to me! I am so fucking tired of dealing with all the sanctimonious, holier-than-thou attitudes! You don't understand—my job was to be his friend, pretend to be his friend, but where did the pretending leave off and the reality start? He **is** my friend, don't you understand that? He was loyal to me, he loved me, he wasn't going to kill me, not the night he called me down at three in the morning and not this morning, and why not? Why did he kill Kiki Vanos?"

"Vinnie, who is Kiki Vanos?"

"Oh, right, you don't know about that—he's the one who killed Danny. I said I wanted him dead and I got my wish. Didn't even have to blow out all the candles. You wanna know? It was a birthday present for me—much nicer than the book you sent me, a present straight from the heart! And Ma didn't even celebrate my birthday, did she? Yeah, it was wrong to kill him, but I wanted to do it myself, and how is it any different than me killing Tony San Martano? Pete, can you tell me that?"

 _Desperation and lostness and an utter sense of aloneness; he's so close to the edge, he's got vertigo._  
  
"Tony San Martano had raped Gina and was threatening—"

"Tony San Martano was unarmed! All his threats were in his mouth, I could have arrested him but I didn't want to, I wanted him dead, so I shot him! So tell me, Pete, what's the difference between Sonny an' me?"

"Vinnie, you are a federal agent, doing your job," Pete was clinging to that pretty desperately, Frank thought. "Sonny Steelgrave is a murderer and extortionist—"

"I'm sitting here with the taste of his cum still in my mouth—"

"Jesus, Vinnie!"

"—I had to keep him occupied, but it wasn't just that, if it was just that I wouldn't have kissed him before they took us away. Anyway, I could always dazzle him with bullshit, he loves the way I challenge him, I'm the only one who does, nobody else's got the balls for it—" Frank had the sneaking suspicion that last was a quote from Steelgrave. "I wanted to do it again because I love him; I'm not supposed to, but I do—"

_Father Terranova doesn't know what to say, Frank thought. I wouldn't either, but I hope to hell he comes up with something soon, before his brother self-destructs right in his face._

"I've betrayed my best friend, a man who loved me when nobody else gave a damn—"

"Shhh, Vinnie, hush, c'm'ere, OK, sit with me. That's better."

"I didn't sleep with him 'cause I had to, I slept with him 'cause I wanted to—"

"I know, I know, it's ok, just settle down."

_He's stopped listening and now he's just trying to soothe him, bring him down. Good, that's what he really needs at the moment; the pieces can be sorted out later; I hope that doctor gets here soon._

"Ma would hate me if she knew; Ma would—she doesn't really know me, Pete; you don't really know me either—nobody really knows me, Frank knows some, but not everything, I never told him about Sonny'n me, I never told him—every night, since the explosion—I was so scared that night, I thought Frank was gonna die, but Sonny blew up the elevator an' everything was OK. We were both stoned out on adrenaline an' after we got back to my place—he made me check the elevator for pizza, just to be sure—I think that's the real reason—we were laughing so hard an' then he kissed me an' everything just happened after that an' I wanted it to, I wanted to do it, I didn't wanna stop—" He paused, gulping for air, then, "If the party had gone different—I had it all worked out! Frank wouldn't let me—but I could have—if I'd known—they've got that tape— **we, we've** got that tape, I'm one of us now, not one of them, I don't know who I am, Pete. If I'd had my gun, I'd've shot myself in the car—" He was gasping, trying to catch his breath.

"Vince!"

"It's true." He sounded calmer, but Frank wondered about that; _that kind of calm can be dangerous._ "I would have. I know Frank told me where they were taking me, but I couldn't remember, it was like being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and made to prove your loyalty—no different, except I realized I'd never been scared of Sonny, but I am scared of Daryl—when I said I wanted to see you, he—I think he wants to hang me in his office like a trophy, he said—"

"Vinnie, I don't care what he said. You're just about hysterical and you may be in shock. You need to sit back down and breathe deeply and try to calm down. You have to know that whatever you've done, God will forgive you."

Again that wild laugh. "God? Yeah, sure, but will Sonny? Never! I gotta talk to him, Pete—or you—you could talk to him, they can't keep you from talking to him—"

"Vinnie—"

"Just . . . . " A long silence. "Nothing. There's nothing you can say, is there? 'Please forgive my brother, he's a traitor to his heart?'"

"I want you to lay down—"

"I _can't_ lay down!" Something crashed against the wall; small, like an ashtray.

"Vince stop it!" The tone must have been what was needed; out of his childhood, pushing buttons no one else knew existed.

"I'm sorry, Pete."

"I want you to come over here and lay down. I'll sit here next to you, but I want you to lay down and I'll turn out the lights."

"No. Leave the lights on. Darkness is for sharing secrets."

_What kind of secrets have you been sharing, Vince? How many of 'em are going to come back to haunt you?_

"If you promise you'll try to sleep."

"I'll try to sleep."

"Vinnie—is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so." A long silence; Frank wondered if Vince had gone to sleep. "Yeah, one thing. Don't tell Ma."

"Of course not."

The doctor came and Frank took him to Vince's room, escorted him out a few minutes later. "I gave him a shot; he should sleep for a good, long time."

"Well, that's probably what he needs most."

It was easy to read the expression on Pete Terranova's face when he came out of the room: righteous indignation, with a healthy dose of fear. Frank had already found the tape set up, removed and wiped the tape, and replaced it. That was the easy part; Daryl was duplicitous, but he lacked imagination. The hard part was going to be explaining things to Vinnie's brother.

"My brother—" Frank could see him fighting with his outrage, his need to keep Vinnie's confession secret, his need to protect and defend Vinnie, his need for answers for himself.

 _Well, if there's a little Jesuit-thinking there, maybe we can knock down one barrier._ "I heard Vince's whole confession."

Outrage squared, cubed. "You were **listening**?"

"It was a choice between that and letting him self-destruct in a room by himself. In this job the lesser of two evils can be difficult to recognize."

"This job." Frank didn't think he'd hear that level of contempt if he asked **Steelgrave** his opinion of "this job." His own contempt was pretty close at the moment. "This job has my brother talking about ending his own life."

_Good, he's focused on the most serious problem._

"Yes, it does. And he's not the first."

"And you—what? Just don't give a damn? Or is this part of the job, you watching him crash and burn?"

"I'm not just watching. I brought you here."

"And what do you suggest I do?" _I'd tell you if I knew,_ Frank thought, knowing what a piss-poor answer it would be.

"I don't know. Father, I'm his field director. That means I try to keep him from getting himself killed while he's on a case. That part I've been able to do. I'm also supposed to be his best friend-father confessor-security blanket. In those areas I have failed miserably. And I'm still failing and I don't know what to do. I was hoping you might have some idea."

"You heard what he was talking about." Pete said this very low, as if less volume would make it less real. Frank just nodded. "I don't—I can't believe that's my brother."

 _Helpless; well, we're all helpless._ "You don't know him. I don't know him. I wonder if anyone really knows him."

"He's my brother, of course I know him, I just—don't know him," Pete finished. "The things he was telling me, I just can't believe—" Embarrassment cut him off, and Frank had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to go very far. All right, I just have to do something to make it easier for him to talk. _"Why don't we go downstairs and compare notes. Maybe together we can put together enough pieces to really help Vince."_

Contempt on Pete's face; he'd rather work with the devil than someone from the OCB right now. _Sorry, but I'm all you've got._ Frank turned and headed downstairs, and Pete followed. 

_"Darkness is for sharing secrets." Isn't it just?_ Frank thought, going into the living room and turning on only one small light. He poured them each a brandy, sat down in an easy chair with another close by. After a moment of standing in the doorway, Pete joined him. 

"Father, I'm sorry it has to be this way. But right now you're just going to have to accept that, for whatever reason, your brother was—romantically involved with Sonny Steelgrave, and at least for the moment he believes he's in love with him." 

Pete picked up the brandy and slugged it back with a grim determination. "In love with him." 

"Father, how would you handle a stranger who came to you with this confession?" 

"What?" Pete didn't seem to be tracking well—not that Frank could blame him. 

"What if a stranger brought to the confessional what Vince just told you?" 

"The Church's views on homosexuality—" 

Angry impatience ran through him. "Don't give me the party-line crap; if a stranger in the same emotional state made the same confession to you, you'd tell him he was going to burn in hell?" 

"Of course not! But he's not a stranger . . . ." 

"Maybe he'd be better off if you treated him more like one. You're taking this all too personally." 

"I'm taking my brother too personally?" There was an edge of sarcasm to the remark. 

"Too personally to be of any help to him. He needs the love of his brother and the understanding of a stranger, someone who has no vested interest in him." 

"For someone who's said he doesn't know what to do, you certainly have some definite ideas." 

"I don't know what to do and even if I did, I couldn't do it—your brother and I aren't close enough for my opinion of him to matter or for my understanding to be enough. But it's pretty obvious that the last thing he needs is someone else judging him." 

"Now I'm judging him! You push my brother to the point of suicide, you eavesdrop on his confession, but when push comes to shove, all you have to offer is that I'm judging him, I don't know him, I'm doing this all wrong!" 

"Look." Frank took a deep breath, trying to push down his own anger. "Do you know what the number-one priority is in picking an undercover agent? Over brains and ability and honesty and that all-important gung-ho-readiness to right the wrongs of the world? It's a solid, stable home life, a family who supports him. Without that, all the other stuff tends to get jettisoned real quick. Your brains are appreciated just as much by the bad guys who think you're working for them, your ability's what helps you adapt to your surroundings in the first place, your pure white honesty starts to look a little faded when you're lying every day, day in and day out, and you show me a guy who can maintain that early level of enthusiasm every second and I'll show you an agent on amphetamines. But your family's supposed to keep you connected to the ground when you're not sure which way is up; they're supposed to be the ones you're making the world safe for when you don't give a good goddamn about the rest of the world. They're supposed to help you remember who you are when you look in the mirror and all you see is the guy you've been pretending to be. 

"Your brother gave us every indication, all along the way, that he had that. As late as the week before his release from prison he was saying that he knew your mother would forgive him, as soon as he got a chance to talk to her. I don't know if he was basing that on the idea of telling her the truth—which he said he was going to do—or if he simply believed he'd be able to win her over. As you know, that didn't happen. 

"Isolation's a killer, Father, and the need to connect to another person may be the strongest human instinct. You've heard of Stockholm Syndrome, where hostage victims begin to identify with their abductors? It's very much like that. Agents don't bail for the money, they bail because they can't see the distinctions between the good guys and the bad guys anymore, and the people they're closest to are on the other side. It happened a lot faster with your brother than usual, but then the circumstances were unusual. Everything about this case was wrong from the start; it shouldn't have been allowed to continue the way it did . . . ." 

"You mean you shouldn't have allowed it to continue." 

For a second Frank thought of telling Pete that he just didn't have that kind of power, that he could have protested, that he maybe could have gotten himself assigned to a different agent, but that was about all he could have done. There wasn't any way to stop it; Daryl wanted it and Daryl was frighteningly blind about the realities of this work; and Vince wanted it, and Vince was stubborn as hell. "I should have pulled the plug when I could," Frank agreed. "He went in for all the wrong reasons—" 

"Wrong reasons? He wanted to help people!" 

"Sure he did, in the big picture, but that wasn't why he wanted this case. This case was about revenge, about Stan Dermott, his training officer, being killed by Dave Steelgrave and your brother's promise to do something about that. Only then Dave was killed, and Vince had already started making a connection with Sonny and it only got stronger. For one thing, he saved Sonny's life, which affects you whether you want it to or not. You were there at that Sunday dinner; you know both of them better than I do—why don't you tell me what was going on?" 

Pete's angry gaze was deflected. "Dinner was—everyone was very nervous at dinner." 

"Steelgrave wasn't. What was he like?" 

"He was very charming, but that doesn't mean anything—" 

"What was your impression? What was Vince like with him?" 

"Comfortable," Pete said unhappily. "It was like he'd brought home one of his high school friends. They made a lot of jokes; they seemed comfortable together . . . . " 

"On a day to day basis, which is easier to take, a guy who's charming but who occasionally does something you disapprove of or a guy who's obnoxious but whose scruples are above reproach?" And with that question came another, Gave him quite a choice there, didn't you, Frank? His family gave him nothing to moor to and you rocked the boat. Great job . . . . "When you're lonely, who are you going to talk to, someone who understands you, someone you connect with, or someone who seems like they're from another planet?"

Pete's anger had deflated and he was really listening to Frank. "You think you're responsible for this."

"I know I'm responsible for some of it. But there's more than enough blame to go around. And you're the one who's going to have to put the pieces back together again."

"I don't know if I can."

"You're the only one who can."

"My mother's going to want to see him."

"Tell her she can't." At Pete's look, he added, "Unless you think she'll understand when he starts rambling about his extra-curriculars in Steelgrave's bedroom." The expression on Pete's face was answer enough. "Keep her away. Tell her anything you have to, unless you want to watch him destroy their relationship."

"There's something I don't understand."

 _Something? There's everything I don't understand . . . ._ "What's that?"

"You sound like you respect my brother very much. Which is certainly not the indication I got from talking to him before."

 _Or what you'd expect considering the circumstances, huh?_ "He broke his heart to do his duty. Maybe the job's addled his brain, maybe this will all pass and he'll go back to being his old self," _yeah, sure_ "but in the right-here, right-now, he believes he's in love with Steelgrave and he handed him over. Yeah, I respect that."

Pete didn't say anything for a while. "I'd better go back up to him."

"Good idea."

"And maybe it would help if you did talk to him, later."

"Maybe."

 

They both went upstairs—Pete to his brother's room, Frank to his own room where he was not going to listen to anything that might be said in the confessional next door. But before he could turn on the radio to drown out the voices, he heard Vince's, low and ragged. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned—" followed by Pete's, warm, sheltering response.

"Vinnie. Tell me about Sonny."

**Author's Note:**

> The second one took a little longer, required some real construction, but it also came pretty quickly. At that point I didn't know how many parts there were going to be, or what was going to happen next.


End file.
